Bea (13 page)

“Most men do,” Bea agreed. Then she slumped down in her seat and stared out the window. “They all leave sooner or later.”

She sounded so forlorn, Russ felt the urge to pull her across the seat and tuck her under his arm and rub her tense shoulders and sing a silly song just to bring a smile to her face. That was ridiculous, of course. She wasn’t his worry.

Anyhow, they’d be in Memphis as soon as they crossed the bridge.

Chapter Seven

Up ahead, the truck lights illuminated the Arkansas-Memphis Bridge.

Russ and Bea both looked straight ahead, as if the bridge had a major significance for them, as if crossing the river would mean more than moving from one state to the next, from Arkansas to Tennessee, as if it would mean they had left something of themselves behind and couldn’t bear to think what they would do without it.

The rhythm of the windshield wipers and the singsong of the tires on wet pavement lulled them both into thinking they might drive forever, the bridge might not end in Memphis but go on into eternity, with the two of them sitting side by side looking out the window.

On the radio Hank Williams, Jr. was wailing another lonesome song about the heartbreak of being left behind. For the first time in her life, Bea found some appeal in country music. It spoke directly to the way she was feeling.

They rode in silence until they came to the bridge.

Russ couldn’t put off telling her any longer. He turned the radio down and eased up on the accelerator so the bridge would last longer.

“Bea?”

Something about the question in his voice made her head snap back. He was usually telling, not asking.

“Yes?” She turned to see his face, but it was in profile, the nose straight and chiseled and the beard glowing in the city lights that had suddenly sprung out of the darkness.

He opened his mouth to say,
I’m going to leave you in Memphis, let you drive home in a rental car, and I’ll be on my way.
But before the first word was out of his mouth, he came upon an ancient car, sideways in his lane, the red taillights winking into the night.

“What the...” He rammed on his brakes, then fought to keep his truck from skidding on the wet pavement.

The cars behind him merely pulled into the passing lane and went on their way, the drivers turning their faces straight ahead, not wanting to get involved.

“What in the world’s going on?” Bea asked, straining forward to see.

“It looks like they’ve skidded halfway off the bridge.”

Russ put on his emergency blinkers and pulled as far out of the lane as he could.

“Wait right here, Bea. I’ll see what’s happening.”

His hand was on the door handle before she spoke.

“Russ...” She reached over and caught hold of his sleeve. “Be careful.”

“Thanks, Bea.”

He climbed out of the truck, feeling good, as if somebody had just informed him he’d won an award of some kind. He walked toward the car, peering through the darkness to see who was inside. Two gray heads were pressed close together in the front seat, and a big yellow cat stared at him from the back window.

Russ walked around the red taillights and approached the front of the car. Its right wheel was hanging off the bridge, giving the whole vehicle a precarious tilt. The front fender was crumpled where it had slammed into the guard rail.

Russ leaned down and tapped on the window. The two old people on the front seat stared staunchly ahead. He tapped again, louder this time. Except for a slight shiver, the old couple seemed not have heard him.

Cupping his hand around his mouth, he yelled at the window, “I’m Russ Hammond, and I’m going to help you.”

Still no response. He thought about carefully opening the front door and getting the people out, but he didn’t want anything to scare them.

He tried to talk to them once more.

“Don’t be afraid. If you’ll come out of the car, I’ll pull it back onto the bridge.”

The old man slowly turned his head. He studied Russ for a long while, and then, seeming to find him satisfactory, leaned over and cranked down the window.

“Mama won’t leave the cat,” he said.

“We’ll get the cat out, too. Just let me help you from the car.”

The two old people bent their heads together once more, whispering. The old man then turned back to Russ. “Mama says no.”

With that, he put his arm around his companion and stared out the front window. Russ didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t leave them there and hope someone else would come along to pull them back onto the bridge. And he couldn’t seem to make them understand what needed to be done.

He leaned into the window and spoke earnestly to them.

“Wait right here,” he said, as if he expected them to go somewhere. There didn’t seem much chance of that. In fact, he doubted that anything less than an act of God would move them out of that car.

He sprinted back to the truck and climbed in beside Bea.

“What’s happening out there?”

“You’re not going to believe this. That car is poised to tilt into the river, and the two old folks in it refuse to budge. The old man says
Mama
won’t leave her cat.”

“Maybe I can help.”

“It’s worth a try.”

Bea and Russ went back to the front of the car, and Bea leaned into the window. “Hi. I’m Beatrice Adams.”

The old man slowly swiveled his head like a turtle peeping out of its shell. His scrawny neck was grooved and furrowed with age, and his eyes were watery and red-rimmed. Bea smiled at him.

“Good evening, Miss Bea.” He nodded formally, as if he were greeting her at the Governor’s Ball. “I’m Macon Grimes and this is my wife, Ophie.” He patted his wife’s wrinkled hand. “Say hello to Miss Adams, Ophie.”

Ophie smiled shyly, then ducked her head and whispered, “Hello.”

“It’s her cat, you see,” Macon explained. “Miss Roosevelt back there is about to have kittens, and we don’t want to upset her by leaving the car.”

“Oh, the poor little kittens,” Miss Ophie said.

“I certainly understand, and I want to help the kittens, too.” Bea reached back until she felt Russ’s arm, then she caught hold. “Will you excuse us, Mr. Grimes? I’m going to talk to Mr. Hammond about your problem and see what we can do.”

“Certainly, my dear.” Macon and Ophie leaned their heads together and began to whisper.

Bea held on to Russ’s arm all the way back to the truck. Somehow, holding on to him was both comforting and reassuring, as if he were a great shield between her and anything that might bring her harm. She supposed that being alone with him in the mountains must have caused a strange kind of bonding.

He helped her into the truck, and squeezed her hand while they talked. He might not have been aware of what he was doing, but that was all right with Bea. Just having him there, touching her, made all the difference.

“I think I can talk them into coming out,” Bea said.

“How?”

“I’ll make a nest for the cat using one of your blankets, and then I’ll get into the car and—”

“No!”

“What do you mean, no?”

“I will not let you get into a car that’s hanging over the Mississippi River.”

She jutted out her stubborn chin. “You won’t
let
me?”

“You’re damned right I won’t.”

“
You
were going to help them. Why can’t I? And why didn’t you just call a tow truck?”

She scooted away from him, and they sat on opposite sides of the truck glaring at each other.

No fury burned brighter than that of a man whose passions had been too-long denied. He wanted her, Russ admitted that to himself. Right now. Sitting on a bridge in the rain and in the dark, he wanted Bea Adams. He was furious with himself...and with her. Dammit, why couldn’t life be simple? Why couldn’t he have driven across the bridge without stopping and left Bea at a rental-car agency? Then he would be rid of her. He wouldn’t have to worry any more about her broken car and her sore toe and her bad dreams and her kidnapping and now, for Pete’s sake, about her fool notion of getting into a car that was about to topple off the bridge.

“Dammit all, Bea....” Russ ran his hand through his hair. “If I weren’t around to take care of you, there’s no telling what would happen.”

“I managed quite nicely for twenty-six years without you.”

“I don’t know how.”

There was no way he could leave Bea now, not until he got her safely to Florence—which could be sometime around Christmas at the rate they were going.

“Grab one of my blankets out of my duffle bag and follow me,” he said as he climbed down from the truck. Then, looking over his shoulder at her, he added, “And don’t argue.”

“Why would I possibly waste my breath? Talking to you is like talking to a brick wall.”

Russ didn’t hear her; he had already gone back to the lopsided vehicle. Sighing, Bea did as she was told.

By all that was right and proper, she should hate Russ Hammond. He’d done nothing for the last few days except order her around—nothing except hauling her car into Pearcy, getting soaking wet retrieving her suitcases, shielding her from bad dreams and rescuing her from kidnappers.

With her hands in his duffle bag, she grew still. Most men would have abandoned her rather than go to all that trouble. But not Russ. He’d stuck by her. Cheerfully, most of the time. She had never known such men existed—except her brother, of course, and Sam didn’t count.

By the time she got to the car, Macon and Ophie were standing outside and Russ was climbing gingerly into the back seat.

Bea thought her heart would stop. What if that car tumbled into the river? He was a big man. What if his weight was just what it took to tip the vehicle into the cold waters of the Mississippi?

“Russ!” She hurried to him, bending over to watch anxiously as he settled onto the back seat with the cat.

“Be still, Bea. Don’t make any sudden moves,” he cautioned, never taking his eyes off the cat.

Miss Roosevelt was up against the door, her back arched and her claws bared.

Oh, Lord,
Bea thought.
If he doesn’t fall into the river, he’ll be clawed to pieces.

“Be careful,” she whispered.

Russ called softly to the cat, who still remained in a fighting stance. Five minutes passed, and then ten. It seemed they would never get the cat out of the car.

Then suddenly, Russ began to sing. It was the same nonsensical song he’d sung to Bea on the mountain. He had a beautiful voice, mellow, soothing, almost bewitching. Ever so slowly, Miss Roosevelt put one paw out and then the other, and finally she crept into his arm.

He emerged triumphantly from the car, cradling Miss Roosevelt in the blanket.

Then, with Bea watching over Macon and Ophie and the cat, Russ hooked the car to the winch on his truck and hauled it back onto the bridge.

It turned out that Macon and Ophie were on their way home, to Whitehaven, on the other side of Memphis. With Miss Ophie sitting on Macon’s lap and Bea holding the still-pregnant cat, Russ delivered them home, towing their car. The Grimeses insisted on making hot chocolate and tuna sandwiches for everybody, and then Miss Roosevelt decided to have her kittens.

It was ten o’clock before Russ and Bea were on the road again.

“I’ll drive a while,” Bea said.

“No.”

“Why not? I’m a perfectly good driver and you look beat.”

“So do you.”

“I do not.” Naturally there was no mirror on the sun visor. Bea pulled a compact out of her purse. She looked like something the cats had dragged in. “Well, maybe I do, but I clean up nicely.”

“I’ve seen how you clean up,” he said. “Go to sleep and let me concentrate on the road.”

“If I don’t talk, you’ll fall asleep at the wheel and we’ll both be dead.”

Suddenly, Russ was laughing so hard his shoulders shook. For all of two seconds, Bea thought about being miffed, and then she joined in.

They were quite a pair, which was probably a bad thing, but with her track record, how would she know? She refused to think about it. Leaning her head against the back of the seat, she closed her eyes, and within seconds, she was asleep.

o0o

They arrived in Florence in the wee hours of the morning. The Victorian house on North Wood Avenue was dark. Bea’s mother and stepfather had long since given up waiting for her. She had called them from Memphis, letting them know what had gone wrong, telling them she hoped to be home sometime that evening.

In the graveled driveway, Russ turned off the engine. It chugged a while longer, then finally died. He patted the dashboard.

“This old baby made it, Bea. You’re home safe.”

“Thank you, Russ.”

He hopped out and unloaded her bag. She got out on the other side and watched him. The Alabama night was bright with stars. One of the brightest seemed caught in his blond hair. When he glanced at her, his hair glowed like a halo.